


Awaken

by Lady_Frija



Series: A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Love, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23402605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Frija/pseuds/Lady_Frija
Summary: “Do I need a reason to dance with my wife?”Just a short fluffy ficlet written as a gift and inspired by an image created by SulisWrites. Enjoy!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Series: A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683526
Comments: 26
Kudos: 117





	Awaken

Lucius Malfoy had not bothered to remove his dark, muggle style suit before he sat down heavily in his study with, in his opinion, a well-earned glass of brandy. He pulled off the tie and tossed it aside, leaving his shirt open at the neck, silently glad to be rid of it. He never would have thought he would ever wear such a thing, but there had been many of those moments over the last few years.

He closed his eyes, letting the burn of the liquor uncoil his tense muscles, soothe his furrowed brow. He had never expected to be taken into the good graces of decent society again, so the customary whispers, stares and muttered insults that followed him had been expected. Even though it put him on edge, made him brace for a fight, he couldn’t say it bothered him on a personal level. There was only one person whose words and thoughts he coveted and cherished…

“Mind if I join you?” The One’s soft, soothing voice caressed his hearing. 

He smirked at the question. He never minded and she damn well knew that.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her pleasing profile. She was all grace and elegance, still dressed in the dark navy evening dress she’d worn to the fundraising gala. She had removed her gloves, and coat, her dark heels adding to the natural curve and swell of her nylon clad calves, drawing his eye to the gentle flare of her hips. Her dark, curly hair barely tamed into an almost regal French twist, one long slender finger dragging a manicured nail along her red sumptuous lips as she leaned in the open door, gazing at him impishly. 

By the gods was she beautiful.

Desperate to distract himself, he fought for conversation. “Where’s the baby?” he asked curiously.

“With Draco.” She smiled, straightening and stepping into the dark sanctum of his study. “She should be sleeping, but with her big brother in the house, sleep is off the table it seems. She was having such fun, I asked if he’d hold out with babysitting duty for a while.”

She perched on his knee and he struggled against a groan.

“Oh? To what end?” he asked, taking a swallow of brandy for some strength to resist the more primal urges in him fighting for realization. 

“This one.” She whispered, threading her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his tenderly. 

He smiled against her kiss, feeling the stress of the evening spent in company of people who he either didn’t know or who still quietly despised him sloughing off of him at her touch. Who would have known two short years ago, that a simple request from the minister of magic to meet with this intrepid young witch to discuss his public support of a new set of laws as a show of good faith with the forgiving ministry would have blossomed into this?

He stood with her, setting her feet gently on the floor as he abandoned his drink to the table beside the chair. Wrapping his arms around her trim waist, he apparated them with a swift pop to the brightly lighted and more spacious drawing room of their townhouse. With a flick of his wand, the Victrola in the corner spun out a melody and as she smiled brightly, tilting her head back in joyful abandon, her laugh brightening his soul as it always had, he pulled her into his arms and drew her into the assured, swaying steps of a waltz.

“A dance?” she asked with intrigue, raising an attractively arched eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need a reason to dance with my wife?” he asked huskily.

She shivered at his breath at her ear and sighed happily, leaning into his embrace and his chest tightened with unrestrainable reverence, his pulse thrumming with passion, love and adoration. He closed his eyes once more, breathing in her scent, vanilla and jasmine, that kissed the soft flesh of her body. 

It was a funny thing, he thought. In the cold silence of winter, you became accustomed to the frost on the glass. The clear, ear ringing silence of the night only snowfall could bring. The bitter wind that chilled your lungs as you breathed. Even the sharp tingle of the ice against your flesh. It could even contain a beauty, a charm, of its own. You learned to be content in the cold, and the silence. There were after all warm fires to sit beside, hot drinks to imbibe on, thick blankets to seek refuge under – but outside the wind still howled, the ice still crackled, the cold still persisted undaunted.

And then, the awakening. Those first weak shudders of spring, as the buds struggled out from the frosted, brittle branches, the birds chirped their songs, defiant sprigs of green and color clawed out from the hard ground. Still the earth shivered, consumed by winter’s sting, blind to the stirrings and first gasps of a world reborn. As they all went on in their grey, sun starved pallor, the landscape dragged the first hints of warmth into its lungs and breathed out hope of renewal…

That’s what it felt like to hold Hermione Granger-Malfoy. 

“I’ve been watching you all evening, soliciting donations, striking up support for your campaign.” He said, her cheek pressed gently against his as they turned about the floor in slow, lazy steps. “I was becoming quite jealous. I even envied your champagne flute more than once.”

She laughed again, gazing up at him with such devotion it made his chest ache. “You know by now you own my heart.” She touched his face as if to accentuate her words, dragging her thumb affectionately along his jaw. “I always return to your side.”

It was his turn to breathe deeply in contented tranquility. She was the spring to his winter, melting his December into May. Oh, winter would cling on. Winter would fight. Frigid nights and cold snaps would signal the death rattles of February, struggle through March but eventually life won out, and the warm rays of sun banished those tainted memories of frigid barrenness. Her smile was light bathing the frozen surface of a lake. Her touch was blooms breaking free of their tombs of soil. Her eyes were the warm pools of balm made with fresh herbs that he lost himself in when the past reached out its dead, clawed hands for his soul…

Well it couldn’t have his soul, for he had given it to her.


End file.
